GARRYOWEN
The little ruined outlet, which gives its name to one of the
most popular national songs of Erin, is situate on the acclivity of a hill near the city of Limerick, commanding a
not unpleasant view of that fine old town, with the noble
stream that washes its battered towers, and a richly
cultivated surrounding country. Tradition has preserved
the occasion of its celebrity, and the origin of its name,
which appears to be compounded of two Irish words
signifying "Owen's garden". A person so called was the
owner, about half a century since, of a cottage and plot of
ground on this spot, which, from its contiguity to the
town, became a favourite holiday resort with the young
citizens of both sexes -a lounge presenting accommodations somewhat similar to those which are offered to the
London mechanic by the Battersea tea-gardens.
Owen's garden was the general rendezvous for those
who sought for simple amusement or for dissipation. The
old people drank together under the shades of trees -the
young played at ball, goal, or other athletic exercises on
the green; while a few lingering by the hedge-rows with
their fair acquaintances, cheated the time with sounds
less boisterous, indeed, but yet possessing their fascination also.
The festivities of our fathers, however, were frequently
distinguished by so fierce a character of mirth, that, for
any difference in the result of their convivial meetings,
they might as well have been pitched encounters. Owen's
garden was soon as famous for scenes of strife, as it was
for mirth and humour; and broken heads became a staple
article of manufacture in the neighbourhood.
This new feature in the diversions of the place was encouraged by a number of young persons of rank
somewhat superior to that of the usual frequenters of the
garden. They were the sons of the more respectable
citizens, the merchants and wholesale traders of the city,
just turned loose from school with a greater supply of
animal spirit than they had wisdom to govern.
These young gentlemen, being fond of wit, amused
themselves by forming parties at night, to wring the
heads off all the geese, and the knockers of all the halldoors in the neighbourhood. They sometimes suffered
their genius to soar as high as the breaking of a lamp, and
even the demolition of a watchman; but perhaps this
species of joking was found a little too serious to be
repeated over frequently, for few achievements of so daring a violence are to be found amongst their records.
They were obliged to content themselves with the less
ambitious distinction of destroying the knockers and
store-locks, annoying the peaceable inmates of the
neighbouring houses with long-continued assaults on the
front doors, terrifying the quiet passers-by with every
species of insult and provocation, and indulging their
fratricidal propensities against all the geese in Garryowen.
The fame of the "Garryowen Boys" soon spread far
and wide. Their deeds were celebrated by some inglorious minstrel of the day in that air which has since
resounded over every quarter of the world; and even disputed the palm of national popularity with "Patrick's
Day". A string of jolly verses were appended to the tune,
which soon enjoyed a notoriety similar to that of the
famous "Lilliburlero, bullum-a-law which sung King
James out of his three kingdoms. The name of Garryowen was a s well known as that of the Irish Numantium, Limerick, itself, and Owen's little garden became
almost a synonym for Ireland.
But that principle of existence which assigns to the life
of man its periods of youth, maturity, and decay, has its
analoqy in the fate of villa es, a s in that of empires.
Ass ria fell, and so did arryowen! Rome had its
dec ine, and Garryowen was not immortal! Both are now
an idle sound, with nothing but the recollections of old
tradition to invest them with an interest. The still
notorious suburb is little better than a hea of rubbish,
where a number of smoked and moul ering walls,
standing out from the masses of stone and mortar, indicate the position of a once populous row of dwellinghouses. A few roofs yet remain unshaken, under which
some impoverished families endeavour to work out a
wretched subsistence, by maintaining a species of huxter
trade, by cobbling old shoes, and manufacturing ropes.
A small rookery wearies the ears of the inhabitants a t
one end of the outlet, and a rope-walk, which extends
along the adjacent slope of Gallows-green (so called for
certain reasons), brings to the mind of the conscious
spectator associations that are not calculated to enliven
the prospect. Neither is he thrown into a more jocular
frame of mind as he picks his steps over the insulated
paving stones that appear amid the green slough with
which the street is deluged, and encounters, at the other
end, an alley of coffinmakers' shops, with a fever hospital
on one side and a churchyard on the other. A erson who
was bent on a journey to the other world coul
! c not desire
a more expeditious outfit than Garryowen could now afford him, nor a more commodious choice of conveyances.
from the machine on the slope above glanced at, to the
pest-house at the farther end.
But it is ill talking lightly on a serious subject. The days
of Garryowen are gone, like those of ancient Erin: and
the feats of her once formidable heroes are nothing more
than a winter's evening tale. Owen is in his grave, and his
garden looks dreary as a ruined churchyard. The greater
number of his merry customers have followed him to a
narrow play-ground, which, though not less crowded, affords less room for fun, and less opportunity for contention. The worm is there the reveller - the owl whoops
out his defiance without answer (save the echo's) - the
best whisky in Munster would not now "drive the cold out
of their hearts" - and the withered old sexton is able to
knock the bravest of them over the pate with impunity. A
few, perhaps, may still remain to look back with a fond
shame to the scene of their early follies, and to smile a t
the page in which these follies are recorded.
Still, howeVer, there is something to keep the memory
alive of these unruly days, and to preserve the name of
Garryowen from utter extinction. The annual fair which
is held on the spot presents a spectacle of gaiety and u p
roar which might rival its most boisterous days; and
strangers still enquire for the place with a curiosity
which its appearance seldom fails to disappoint. Our
national lyrist has immortalized the air, by adapting to it
one of the liveliest of his melodies - the adventures of
which it was once the scene, constitute a fund of standing
joke and anecdote, which are not neglected by the
neighbouring story-tellers - and a rough voice may still
occasionally be heard by the traveller who passes near its
ruined dwellings at evening, to chaunt a stanza of the
chorus which was once in the mouth of every individual in
the kingdom :
'Tis there we'll drink the nut-brown ale,
And pay the reck'nin' on the nail,
No man for debt shall go to jail
From Garryowen na gloria.
i
C!
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("The Collegians", 1828).
Page 35